Past Life
by Cerebella Kennor
Summary: Hermione had heard of past lives, of course, but she'd always assumed they were, well, PAST. Yet here she was, born in 1927. As she sets out to turn the wizarding world into a peaceful, egalitarian world without discrimination, she does more than just change the minds of her peers and teachers... she changes the future. ON HIATUS until further notice.
1. Prologue

**AN:** So I've been reading Hermione/Tom stories the past little while, and this idea popped into my head one morning. Waiting for class to be finished so I could start writing it damn near killed me! Anyway... I was inspired by a number of Naruto self-insert fan fictions, where the SI is actually _born_ into the Narutoverse. I thought, well, why not have someone born into a new life, someone who'd already lived and knew the universe he or she were born into? This is what came out of it. Hope you like it.

**Expect sporadic updates!** I'm back to class now, so I'm not sure if I'll be able to update more than once a week (if that, with all the blasted reading and studying and paper-writing I'll have to do). Hopefully I can get something out every week, but we'll have to wait and see. Oh... and my writing style is likely going to change as I write this story. I've found that while reading the writing of other people I tend to subconsciously mimic them (I do the same with speech and body language, oddly enough), and I'm going to be doing a ton of different reading, from ancient Greek sources in translation, to English poetry, to American literature... so my writing might change depending upon what I've recently read. You've been warned... but do enjoy this story regardless. I don't think I've ever read a Harry Potter fan fiction quite like this before, so hopefully it'll be original and enjoyable.

* * *

**Prologue**

Hermione had heard of past lives, of course, but she'd always assumed they were _past,_ as in previous. What had happened to her defied all logic, as far as she was concerned.

One day she'd been sitting in her office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, going over the last of the discriminatory pro-pureblood laws she was set to abolish. It'd been a good number of years that she'd been working for the Ministry, and she'd gone over what must have been a hundred thousand laws in the seven years since she'd left the Department for the Regulation of Magical Creatures, but this law had been the last of the archaic and discriminatory laws that had previously governed the British wizarding world. She'd been proud, to say the least. But then that bastard Rabastan Lestrange, who'd been in the Ministry to appear at a trial involving the discovery of one of Voldemort's old hideouts, had come blasting through her door. He'd seen her, recognized her, and before she could even draw her wand (she'd been so damned surprised at his appearance – really, those Aurors should have been trained to contain such dangerous men!) he'd blasted her with what must have been a stolen wand. She'd only had time to blink before the green light hit her, and then she knew no more.

When Hermione became aware of herself again, she could see, hear, and smell nothing. She seemed to be floating about in some strange, warm darkness that felt oddly comforting. Time passed with her wondering what in Merlin's name was happening to her (there was no train to go on, as Harry had once told her). She was dead – she'd been hit with the Killing Curse, of this she had no doubt – and yet here she was, seemingly alive. She existed at least _(Je pense, donc je suis_, and all that). Eventually she began to hear voices, muffled though they were. They cooed and sang, and she would swear she'd heard classical music at some point, but she couldn't make much out of it.

Then there was a breach in her comfort. Suddenly what had been a cozy little place became unbearably tight and airless (she hadn't needed to breathe before, and yet now she craved air, she lusted for it, she would _die_ without it). She twisted and kicked and tried with all her might to get out of wherever the hell she was, but there was nothing she could do. She felt contractions, and suddenly she knew what was happening to her. She hadn't been in some strange after life, living out her next great adventure in a dark hidey-hole. She'd been within the belly of a pregnant woman, and she was about to be birthed. She'd recognized the sensation of contractions, of pushing and squeezing to press the baby into the world (she was the mother of two, and she'd always recognize the sensation of giving birth, even if she wasn't the one doing it at this time).

The world was strange when she left the birthing canal. She screamed and cried and wondered why, in the name of every god she'd ever read about, did she remember her past life? She hadn't died in any strange manner; the Killing Curse was unnatural, yes, but thousands of people, probably millions since its creation, had died by that curse and no one had ever spoken of this effect. If they could remember their previous life, then surely they'd have said something? Surely someone would have admitted to it?

"Cornelia, I think, dear," a familiar male voice stated.

Cornelia? Oh, what a horrid name! Why, they might as well add Fudge in there somewhere! No one had used that name since that bloody idiot had run away! It wasn't in fashion anymore, old as it was, and tied to such a pathetic man as Cornelius Fudge.

"I think it's a perfectly lovely name," another familiar voice responded, this one female.

No! Hermione cried out louder than when she'd left her mother's womb. They were _not_ going to name her Cornelia! It would be Hermione! Hermione or nothing at all! She forced her little, underdeveloped eyes open and could barely make out the people before her. It might have taken time for a baby to be able to fully see, but Hermione was not a baby. She was a woman of forty-eight years stuck in the body of a child, and she would _not_ be named anything but Hermione! Her magic, which was stronger than what it should be for a newborn baby (in fact, the magic in newborns was completely undeveloped and would not respond to emotions until one month after birth) responded. It swirled up inside her, feeling as strong as the day she'd died, and exploded into the two people who surrounded her. Completely accidentally (though not unintentionally), she projected her desire onto her (she supposed) parents. _Hermione. I will be named Hermione._

"You know what, dear? I think I've changed my mind."

"Oh, honestly, love, would you make up your mind? It's been months now since you said you'd come up with a good name. We can't wait any longer."

"Hermione," the man said. "Her name will be Hermione."

"Hermione? A bit odd, but perfectly lovely still. And what of her second name? You did promise me..."

"Yes, yes, she shall be Hermione Aeliana, after your mother. Hermione Aeliana Chase."


	2. A Dream Within a Dream

**AN:** So here's the first chapter! I'm surprised how quickly I got this out, but I've been in a surprisingly good mood lately, so writing it was easy. Expect the next instalment in the latter part of next week (sometime between Thursday and Sunday - I'll try to update weekly, but school comes first).

**Errors: **I'm not a history major, so any events I speak of I only speak of from quick research done on the 'net - meaning there are likely errors or inconsistencies. Sorry about that. Oh, and if any of my British terms are off or used improperly... my only defence if that I'm not British myself and so can't hope to use their dialect properly.

* * *

**Chapter One: A Dream Within a Dream**

At first Hermione accepted what had happened to her. She'd died, fine. Hermione Aeliana Chase was a sad baby, crying often though quietly. Hermione mourned her own children, Rose and Hugo. At least she'd been able to see them both graduate from Hogwarts. She remembered them both, so full of life, always arguing with each other, but also very affectionate. She couldn't have asked for better children. Both were clever, though Hugo had taken after her bookish habits more than Rose, and both were lively. Being brought up around the Weasleys had insured that her children had a sense of humour and a love of food. Being brought up around the Grangers insured they took good care of their teeth and were conscious of their actions.

She mourned Ron, too. Her husband, the love of her life. That oblivious, silly fool who'd not known how much he'd loved her until Viktor had asked her to the Yule Ball, who'd not kissed her until she'd made the first move, who'd surprised her with a proposal (honestly, she'd half-expected that she'd have had to be the one to ask _his_ hand in marriage). She loved Ron, and she missed him terribly, just as much as she missed her children and her godchild James Sirius and his brother and sister.

And Harry. Despite not being related to him, Harry had seemed like a brother to her, especially as they'd grown older. She nagged him and he protected her. He'd always taken care of her, especially when Ron acted like an idiot (which had still happened even after a near half century of life). He made her laugh and held her when she cried. He'd been there when Rose was born, holding her hand because Ron had fainted. Now that she was gone, it would be up to him to make sure her children were taken care of properly (though they didn't live at home any longer, they would still need to be checked-up on, and Ron would forget to ask the important questions and do the nagging about cleanliness and work-ethic).

Her new parents, Phaedrus and Junia Chase (odd names, _old, wizarding_ names), loved her dearly and clearly worried about their tearful baby. She'd put on a smile for them, and babbled and waved like a bloody idiot just to make them stop suspecting there was something wrong with her. But it was difficult, and it got more and more difficult as time wore on and she grew older. Her new parents were Healers and very attuned to anything and everything that could be wrong with children. Hiding her intelligence from them was damn near impossible, and even dumbing herself down as best she could, they still thought her a genius. She could read by two and a half, and by five she'd done away with the children's stories and worked up to magical literature for young adults. The literature of the wizarding world was certainly odd and old-fashioned, but then her books were printed in the 1920s and 30s and so must have remained in the family for generations. They were kept in good condition, though, so she didn't complain about it. Besides, it was like reading a history book.

It was fascinating to grow up in a magical household, old-fashioned though her new family was. Her upbringing was _so_ different from what it had been in her previous life that sometimes she wondered if perhaps it had all been a dream. She'd mentioned dentists once, but her parents had looked at her strangely and asked what she was talking about. Muggles existed, of course, and they'd told her about them, but they hadn't brought her anywhere near the Muggle world – or even outside of their small manor home. It was decidedly strange, especially since they were in England and she _knew_ that British wizards and witches were required to be able to function in the Muggle world. Muggle Studies was a required class for all those who came from wizarding households, just as Wizarding Studies was required for those who grew up in Muggle households. So the fact that she had no contact at all and that her parents wouldn't know a word like _dentist_ meant that they were going against Ministry regulations.

It wasn't until she was nearly six years old that she realized something was astoundingly wrong.

* * *

She was sitting at the kitchen table, practicing her letters (and did these people _have_ to use stupid quills? Muggle pens had gone into use _years_ ago) when she'd spotted the _Daily Prophet_. The paper was just as old-fashioned as the quill and parchment she was using! The lettering was a bold gothic font, far from the more attractive fonts used at the time of her death. It wasn't until she saw the paper that she realized she'd never seen a calendar anywhere in the house. Though, to be fair, the Weasleys had never had a calendar in their house, either. Must be a wizarding thing, always using wands to tell the date and not wall calendars.

Suddenly wanting to know how far into the future she'd been reincarnated (for it couldn't be anything else, could it?), she picked up the paper and her eyes swept over the front to read the date. When she caught sight of it, she blinked stupidly. _Impossible_, was her first thought. Then: _What in Merlin's name?_ For, you see, the date on the paper read October 14th, 1933.

"Good morning, sweetheart," her father greeted.

Hermione stared questioningly at him, trying to keep the shock off her features. He noticed, of course. He and her new mum always noticed when something was wrong. "What's wrong, love?" he asked.

Hermione debated asking, but decided that since she'd never read anything about dates outside of her storybooks, she might as well just ask. "Is this the date, October 14th, 1933?"

"No," he replied.

Hermione let out a sigh of relief. Maybe they were collectors or something?

"It's the twenty-sixth. Tomorrow will be the twenty-seventh – and your birthday."

"My – my birthday?"

"Of course, love, comes once a year," he smiled.

Her new birthday was October 27th? And apparently, according to her calculations, she'd been born in the year 1927. Exactly a century away from her deathday. How perplexing – and annoying, as if she could forget her lack of constant vigilance! Why was she born on the day she'd died? But she couldn't be sure, could she? So she asked: "I was born October 27th in the year 1926?"

"Yes, love. Hermione, is there something wrong? I've never heard you speak so strangely. Surely you know the date?"

She shook her head, "You and mother never told me the date. We haven't got a calendar anywhere in the manor, I've checked."

"How odd, not knowing the year! Well, we'll just have to find you a calendar, then, won't we?"

Hermione smiled at him, and kept the placating look on her face until he'd left the room. When she was sure he was gone, her face fell into horror. 1933! If she remembered correctly, this was the year Hitler was declared Chancellor of Germany, the year the concentration camps came into existence, the year the Nazi party began to take control of Germany. If this was the year (and now, standing back to look at her life, her oddly old-fashioned life, she saw that it must be true), she was going to have to live through the terror of World War II, which would be starting in just under six years. Being a witch and living in a warded manor might mean she was safe from Muggles and from bombs so long as the wards were strong enough, and so long as the bombs didn't fall directly on them (and being where the manor was located, there was no reason for a bomb to drop here), but Merlin, Morgana, and Mordred, would she _hear_ them from here, fifty kilometres outside of London? Would she stay awake at night, hearing the sirens warning of air raids, hearing the planes fly overhead and the bombs drop over buildings and people, hearing the screaming and crying and _horror_ that was war at such a large scale?

But just because she was safe from the Muggles and their war (and only safe so long as she stayed behind wards) didn't mean she was safe from Gindelwald. He wouldn't be defeated for another twelve years! He was one of the worst Dark Wizards in all of Europe, second only to Voldemort. He'd never entered England before, leaving Britain alone because of Dumbledore's presence, but what if that changed? What if, because Hermione was here, he entered Britain? And now she was faced with a conundrum. Was this real? Had she honestly died and been reborn in the past? But what if her previous life was the dream, and this reality? Or were both true, only now that she was here, her other life _couldn't_ be true? Or would she die young, unable to leave a mark and unrecognizable to any she would come to know? Surely Dumbledore would have recognized her had he known her! That man was shrewd; he knew and remembered just about everyone. There was no way that he wouldn't have linked young Hermione Granger to Hermione Chase, who would no doubt be as brilliant (if not more, being as she was forty-eight at her death and very knowledgeable) as her future counterpart. Perhaps he hadn't said anything, then? She would die young, unable to change the future for the better even knowing what she knew. But _was_ that the future? _Had_ that all happened? She couldn't say.

And the biggest problem of all... Voldemort was alive again. Granted, he was seven years old at the moment and didn't pose a problem outside of the orphans he was currently torturing (most likely, anyway, from what she'd heard from Harry), but what was she supposed to do? Should she... kill him? Hermione had been through war and had participated in gathering up the remaining Death Eaters, so she'd killed before... but she'd only done it because she'd had to. It was their life or hers, their life or the lives of her friends, their life of the lives of innocents. When you were in battle, you aimed to kill – not stun, not like they'd done in fifth year, stupidly stunning their enemy and leaving them to be enervated just so they could fight them again. This wasn't battle though. This was murder. This was killing a seven year old child because he _might_ become evil. And even that wasn't certain because her previous existence wasn't certain. What is Tom Riddle hadn't been born, or had died in birth, or was a kindly child? She would have to wait and see – and even if he did turn out to be cruel and unkind and mean, she couldn't kill him until it was his life or the life of someone innocent (like Myrtle, annoying thought she might be). Hermione decided to wait and see. She would approach this life as though all she'd learned in her past life (future life?) was questionable at best, wrong at worst. Nothing was certain but that she was here; everything else she would have to learn again.

* * *

Life went on after that, though there were a few changes. She continued to read the fiction books her parents bought her, but she also read the _Daily Prophet_ and London's Muggle _Daily Sketch_. She even had to re-learn Latin, though ancient Greek was new, as was French, but apparently these were important languages in this time period – it seemed that the wizarding world had still not completely left behind the neoclassical era. She had tutors for the languages, and they would praise her for her hard work and quick learning. Apparently her family (both maternal and paternal, though she didn't often see her relatives) was a family of Ravenclaws, so her intelligence wasn't frowned upon heavily as it might have been in, say, the Weasley family. But she was still much more intelligent than a girl her age should be, and therefore she was quiet and reserved. She only offered answers if asked, only gave as much as required, and never asked questions (because she could always find the answers herself if she didn't know – and because finding the answers was half the fun of learning).

She had already decided not to draw attention to herself. If she changed the course of history, then she hoped it was for the best. But she wouldn't go into Hogwarts (if it existed, as her parents didn't speak of it for some reason) guns blazing, trying to change everything she didn't like into what it had become in the (possible) future. No S.P.E.W, no non-discriminatory laws. She'd have to spend her life subtly campaigning for such things, changing opinions as she went using nothing but logic and reasoning. She wasn't a Slytherin, she couldn't plot and plan and she had no ambition for greatness. No, she'd just have to stick to the small things. Things she'd already begun doing, like thanking her family's House Elves for doing their work, treating them kindly and listening to them. Already her parents had begun to do the same, and the Elves were some of the happiest she'd ever seen (except for Dobby, brave Dobby who had died to keep them safe). She'd make sure to treat everyone she met equally, give them all the respect they deserved for simply existing.

So the years passed, her days filled with reading stories and running around outside when the weather was good, and in the greenhouse when it wasn't. Honestly, she would much rather spend her time studying and learning new magic. She loathed the time she was forced to spend running or swimming or jumping rope (she would not fly), but her parents were authoritative and forced her to be active. For every two hours she spend reading, one would be spend active. She'd never run so much in her life, it was awful! Healers, honestly! They nagged worse than she'd nagged her own children; she'd _never_ made her kids put down their books. Though they hadn't been as bad as she was now... Ron had made sure of that. He'd drag them out flying and playing tag and hide and seek and marco polo (he loved those Muggle games for some odd reason – probably the fascination for Muggle things ran in the family).

Her eleventh birthday came and went and she waited anxiously for the summer, wondering if she would receive her Hogwarts letter.

* * *

On the fourteenth of July there came a knock at the front door. Hermione had only heard it because she was just finishing breakfast. Feeling a little suspicious (the last time a door had opened on an unknown person she'd died), she reached into the umbrella stand and took out a green umbrella, one whose bottom was rather pointy. She could stab someone with it, if need be.

When she opened the door, however, the umbrella she'd held threateningly in front of her fell from her hands. In front of her stood Albus Dumbledore. His hair and bear were far shorter than she recalled, and they were auburn! The colour was bright and flashy, much like the purple robes he'd loved so much in his old age. Now he wore a more muted blue, looking much more serious than she'd ever seen him. The twinkle in his eyes was there, but not as prominent as before – and his nose! Why, his nose was positively _straight_ compared to what she'd seen! It would seem that his brother Aberforth had only partly contributed to its later crooked appearance.

"Why hello," he greeted, eyeing the umbrella with no small amount of confusion. "You must be Miss Chase."

For a moment she had no idea what he was talking about – _who?_ – but then her Healer parents came up from behind her, greeting the Professor happily and inviting him to come inside for some tea.

Then they all sat down, sipping on their tea and making wretched small talk until she couldn't take it anymore: "I'm sorry, Professor Dumbledore, was it? What is it you're here for?"

The auburn-haired man finally faced her, that serious look still about his face and even more prominent now that he was sitting before her parents. "I am here to test you."

"Test me?" she wondered. When Professor McGonagall had come to her, she'd simply presented the letter and showed her some magic, answering the millions of questions that spewed from her lips. Harry had gotten his letter from Hagrid, he'd said. And Ron... Ron had received no visit at all! He'd simply gotten his letter in the mail. So then why was it that _she_ got a visit? Her parents were obviously magical – she'd seen then using their wands, though they tried to hide it from her for some odd reason – and she _knew_ she was magical as well. She could feel her magic within her, much stronger than it'd been in her previous life. It seemed as though the above-average spring of magic she'd had before was doubling within her. She might even be as powerful as Harry was, if her magic continued to grow at the rate it was! And yet here she sat, half-blood or pureblood as she was, receiving a visit from the Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts like any Muggleborn or orphan would.

"Yes. You see, I am a Professor in a very special school – but this school requires a certain type of student."

A certain _type_? What in the devil was he talking about? She was magical! She had more magic than her parents did and she was only eleven for heaven's sake!

Seeing her look of bewilderment, he smiled gently at her and continued, "We are not yet certain that you meet the requirement."

"And... and just what _is_ the requirement?"

"Oh, dear, you needn't worry about not meeting it. If you don't, then we'll find another school for you. Getting into this one isn't imperative, no matter what your grandparents say," her father assured her.

"What do they say?" she demanded. Was this the reason she didn't see her relatives often? They thought she was a squib and hated her for it? How absurd! In _her_ time, squibs were treated just the same! They were able to live alongside their families, sometimes finding work in the wizarding world, sometimes in the Muggle. Magic didn't matter more than family!

"Nothing to worry about, sweetheart," her mother said. "Let's just have you do the test and if you pass, then you'll be taught by Professor Dumbledore, and if not then we'll find an equally good school for you elsewhere."

Hermione was starting to get annoyed. "Is this a school for magic, or isn't it?"

Even Dumbledore looked surprised at her question, but he nodded and answered, "Yes. It is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Sadly, we cannot take any student who is unable to perform magic as it would be much too dangerous and the students wouldn't be able to utilize what they learn."

"Then I should have no problem being admitted," Hermione snapped, "because I'm a witch."

"Maybe we should have found Muggle books," her father mumbled, looking heartbroken.

Professor Dumbledore was beginning to look very grave, pity entering his eyes as he no doubt thought of his poor sister, who had been unable to attend Hogwarts because of the attack on her, who had been forced to live in a magical household without the ability to perform magic as the rest of her family did. Hermione couldn't stand the look. She stood up, her teacup clattering on the table, and she glared fiercely at the three adults in front of her. "Don't look at me with pity!" she snapped. "I _am_ a witch!"

"Sweetheart, please calm down. It's not the end of the world if you aren't. You'll be able to go to Muggle schools – I've heard they have classes about literature! You love reading, you'd enjoy it!"

"Damn it, dad!" she shouted. "I'm not a blasted squib!"

"Where did you hear that word?" he asked, brow furrowing in anger.

"Argh!" Hermione sounded. "I'll prove it! Merlin, why can't you believe me when I say I'm a bleedin' witch!"

"Language, young lady!" her mother snapped.

Hermione ignored the scolding and picked up her teacup. She smashed it on the floor, getting some satisfaction in how all three adults jumped, but then she concentrated and waved her hand at the broken china. The broken pieces drew back together until the cup was unbroken, completely repaired. To make sure they understood perfectly well that she _was_ a witch, she wiggled her fingers so that the tea soaking in the carpet drew out of it and poured back into the cup. Then she levitated the cup back into her hands and placed it on the table, staring pointedly at the three gaping people.

She couldn't help but notice a shadow enter Dumbledore's eyes and she immediately remembered that he would have seen Tom Riddle the previous year, the boy who could perform feats such as the ones she'd just shown him. Hopefully the Professor wouldn't link that crazy bastard with her. She was in no way cruel or mean, not like he was when he'd been a child.

Her parents, when they regained their senses, shouted with happiness and surrounded her with their arms, hugging the life out of her. "Oh, Hermione! We're so proud of you! Why on earth did you hide this from us?"

"I didn't hide it," she said, and then she wagged a finger and continued, "I just didn't feel the need to use it. I won't become lazy simply because I can wave my hand and have my messes clean. Manual labour teaches self control and good work ethic."

Her parents were speechless once more, but Dumbledore threw his head back and laughed. She blushed when she realized what she'd said – and how she'd said it. It had been as though she were speaking to Rose and Hugo, telling them that magic couldn't – and _shouldn't_ – be used to fix everything.

"Ah," Dumbledore said as he wiped tears from his eyes, "I haven't been scolded by one so young since I was that age!"

"Yes, well..." Hermione trailed off.

Dumbledore shook his head and reached into his robes, pulling out a letter and handing it to her. "I've no doubt about your admittance into the school. You surpass the requirements, really. Though I am curious as to why you haven't had any bouts of accidental magic. That's how we know who to send letters to: the Registry senses the magic of a child in Great Britain and writes that child's name down."

Hermione mused on this fact. She didn't necessarily have the magic of a child, after all. When she'd been born and she'd performed that bit of persuasive magic to get her name (and thank Merlin for that – she'd have hated her parents had they called her _Cornelia_), she had used the magic she'd brought over from her previous life. After that, she hadn't used it for anything. Children weren't supposed to use magic before they were eleven because it was still developing. If she'd tried to use it and something had happened, then she could have stunted her growth (though, really, she already had as much magic as she needed when she'd been born here) or become a squib (a real fear for someone who had already been able to perform magic). Accidental magic happened because the growing magic was unstable and pushing the body to its limits as it grew, much like the building of muscles. And like the building of muscles, it was dangerous for children to push themselves beyond what their bodies were capable of. No, it was best to leave growing magic alone.

"Why haven't you done anything before this?" her mother wondered. "I know you've been looking for our spell books; you've been searching for those since you were five. Why haven't you said anything?"

Hermione swallowed, "I couldn't be certain of anything. Besides, if you hid them from me, then obviously you didn't want me to see them for some reason. I just thought that maybe you were waiting until I was older to teach me about magic."

"But why haven't you used it? Surely you've felt uncomfortable at times? Accidental magic happens because there's an excess of magic in the child's body, and your demonstration tells me that you have much more than an average child."

Ah, her father could be quite the scientist (though he didn't know _that_ word, either). "It's comfortable," she said simply.

"Hm," her father mused, rubbing his chin.

She finally turned to her letter and opened it, beaming as she read her acceptance into the school. She immediately flipped to the booklist, reading through it and smiling in wonder as she spotted the different book titles. None of them were the same as in her time, but for Bathilda Bagshot's _A History of Magic_. Oh, she couldn't wait! She'd been wanting to use magic the moment she'd been born, but she'd held back because she knew the law: no magic for underage wizards or witches. It turned out that the no magic during summer rule was there to give their magic time to rest and recuperate, not to discriminate against Muggleborns (as she'd thought before). Besides, children were more apt to break the Statute of Secrecy than any adult was – aside from those that were irresponsible.

"So when do we go shopping?" she wondered. She was tempted to ask for some trousers while they were out (she was so sick of robes – they were, as Lavender Brown might have put it, so twentieth century). She knew that that would be too much though. She already wore trousers to bed, and even that had been a fight! She'd had to complain in detail about how her nightdress would inevitably rise above her belly in the night and wake her; eventually her father had caved, just so she'd stop talking about it with him.

But this was Hogwarts! It didn't matter if she was forced into that stupid uniform again (the robes and the skirt and the blasted _tights_!). All that mattered was that she would go back to school, where she could reread every book in the Hogwarts library and read every book that might have left it before her own time. It would certainly be grand.


	3. And Yet, It Must Have Been Real

**AN: **In answer to an anonymous review (which was well-written and definitely _constructive_ criticism, so I appreciate it even though I will defend myself), I'd like to say that Hermione being so unlike herself (compared to cannon-Hermione) is rather the point. She was forty-eight years old when she died, which means that things like cussing wouldn't really bother her any more (if her kids were younger than Hogwarts-graduates I might say differently and agree with you, but they were adults at her time of death). This entire story is AU, so while I did follow cannon _events_ up until her death, it's still not cannon.

As for why she'd hide her magic from her family... she's an adult in a child's body. I can't imagine that she would use her magic whilst under the guise of a child simply because children don't normally use magic outside of accidental magic. She just wouldn't think to use it because kids aren't _supposed_ to, and she's trying to act like a kid even though it's really difficult for her to do so. Her little display of magic is to prove that she _unquestionably_ has it and should go to Hogwarts.

And to explain her anger at being thought a squib: she was a Muggleborn during the second war with Voldemort in her first life, when Muggleborns were being accused of stealing their magic. It'd be something of an old wound to have someone think she didn't inherently have magic. Not to mention the fact that she's been a part of the wizarding world for so long that the insinuation that the Muggle world would better suit her best would be frustrating. Being told that she might not belong in Hogwarts would make her a bit desperate to belong if you consider these two things. At least, that's what I believe. Hermione's a witch - having her parents and Dumbledore (people she trusts and admires) tell her otherwise would seriously hurt.

An apology to those who wanted more time with Hermione's parents - you'll get more of that interaction later, I promise!

Without further ado, here's the next chapter!

* * *

**Chapter Two: And Yet, It Must Have Been Real**

Diagon Alley had been the same. Apparently the wizarding world hadn't much changed between now and fifty years or so down the road, not that she was surprised. Wizards tended to be a bit medieval, after all.

Her wand _had_ changed, however. Perhaps it was simply that her vine wood wand had yet to be made, or perhaps it was that her birthday had changed, or perhaps it was that she had grown since the last time she'd been fitted, but her wand was now made out of _ivy_, was 12 ¾ inches, flexible, and had a dragon heartstring core.

The book list had been particularly fascinating, with each listed book being either an earlier publication of the books she had used in the nineties, a book that had fallen out of print, or a book that'd been simply exchanged for something more modern. She couldn't wait to read them, to find out how much different the writing was, how much easier or more complex the teachings were. She would have to be careful not to do things that hadn't been invented or discovered yet – at least, not unless she was able to explain how and why she'd decided to change a spell or potion.

The uniform must have undergone drastic changes between the forties and the nineties, however, for instead of having to wear a skirt, she had to wear a gymslip with a pleated skirt and a short- or long-sleeved white blouse underneath it. A dress. A stinking mid-calf-length, tunic dress which restricted her movements worse than any skirt she'd ever worn. It was more than annoying, but it wouldn't be until the sixties that women would wear trousers on a larger scale in the Muggle world, and not until the new millennium that witches _and_ wizards started wearing them regularly instead of robes. Even in the nineties, the girls' Hogwarts uniform had been a skirt and blouse; it was only at the turn of the century that the option of trousers existed. She'd just have to wait. (Of course, once she lived on her own she would wear trousers in private...)

* * *

The Hogwarts Express was exactly as she remembered it: a red, steam-powered engine with an endless number of compartments, the year 1765 emblazoned proudly on the front (the year James Watt, a Muggleborn wizard, had perfected the steam engine). She got herself a compartment in the front, nearest to where the Prefects met and the conductor sat. She'd hugged her parents awkwardly goodbye, receiving a kiss from them both, and then she hopped on the train and sat down in her chosen compartment, waving at them as the train pulled away. Admittedly she'd charmed her compartment to repel other people, a combination of two OWL-level charms which would most likely go unnoticed by the vast majority of students. She didn't really feel like making friends with a bunch of eleven year olds... it would be annoying for her, a now fifty-six-year-old woman (though she looked eleven) needing to be friendly with children. She'd just wind up patronizing them, probably. She'd make friends when her body got older – maybe she could date when she was in her thirties or forties so she'd feel less like a paedophile There was no way she was going to even _look_ at the other students in a romantic manner; it was a million shades of _wrong_ and _disgusting_. No, she was better off staying away from them all, keeping her distance until she reached an appropriate age.

She'd just settled down to read her Transfiguration book, looking forward to being taught by Albus Dumbledore himself, when her compartment door slid open. She stared in shock as a boy about her age stepped in and closed the door behind him with an angry snap. No one should have been able to get through those charms! Not anyone under fifth year, at least! And that was only if they'd _noticed _it, which would have been difficult for even a seventh year to do, what with how masterfully she'd applied those spells!

"Perhaps you could reapply those charms of yours?" the boy asked (damn near ordered).

"S-sure," she stuttered unthinkingly, twirling her wand and resetting the spells without speaking another word.

It was only when he stared at her with surprise and suspicion that she realized she'd just cast the charms non-verbally. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"Er – Hermione Chase," she said awkwardly, then added, "Nice to meet you."

"I haven't heard that name before."

"Well, we're a small family. The last Chase graduated about twenty-five years ago, my uncle Janus."

He nodded and levitated his trunk up onto the rack (and _he_ did it non-verbally, too, astoundingly enough). Then he sat down with a pile of books, parchment, ink, and a quill, and began doing what appeared to be his summer homework. Hermione had never seen anyone do all of their homework on the train before (Harry and Ron sometimes had had to finish up their Potions essays), and as the boy seemed to have books on every required subject in the Hogwarts curriculum for students under fifth year, she figured that he hadn't done _any_ of his work. How irresponsible!

She opened her mouth to scold him, but his eyes snapped up to her face and he glared at her something fierce. She shut her mouth and swallowed before turning back to her book, trying to put this creepy kid out of her mind. Merlin, she'd never seen a little kid look so scary! He couldn't be more than twel—oh. _Oh._ Bugger. This was Voldemort, it had to be. And she'd just performed a non-verbal Repellant Charm in combination with a Notice-Me-Not in front of him without even having entered her first year of schooling. Damn.

* * *

The train ride passed slowly, with the only sounds in the compartment being the turning of pages and the scratching of a quill on parchment. Tom Riddle was certainly impressive, she mused, watching him out of the corner of her eye as he finished up his final essay an hour before they were set to arrive. He'd just finished his entire summer's homework in five hours. He'd only spent about forty minutes on each subject! Hermione could do that, of course (especially now, knowing all she knew), but when she'd been eleven, she would have at least liked to spend two hours per subject, if not more! And here this boy was, writing his essays in their final form in forty minutes! This was definitely the genius Tom Riddle, no one else could have performed such a feat. She was almost jealous – and had she been younger and had less confidence in herself and in her skills, she _would_ have been jealous.

She kept her mouth shut though, not wanting to discuss anything with him. This boy would grow up to be a monster; she wasn't going to give him anything to hold against her. Well... he had the _potential_ to become a monster, anyway. That glare he'd sent her earlier had gotten rid of any theory of him being a kindly person. No one who didn't harbour a deep loathing for humanity could give a look like that to a random person. He was exactly as Harry had described him: frighteningly intelligent and frighteningly hateful. If she weren't fifty-six and battle-hardened, she might have been scared. Though she'd have to make sure that she remained constantly vigilant this time – no need to be surprised into death again. If she had to go through another childhood, she'd scream and cry and throw a bloody tantrum, she would!

"Where did you learn those spells?" the boy asked after he'd realized that she wasn't about to break the silence, speaking as though he expected her to answer.

She narrowed her eyes at the book in front of her face but quickly composed herself and lowered it. "Oh, my parents taught me. They figured I'd want to be able to study quietly like at home. I can't always be in the library, after all."

He looked like he didn't fully believe her, but he appeared to let it go as he nodded. She knew he wanted her to teach them to him, but she wouldn't. No way was she giving him anything if she could help it. He might not be evil yet – but, well, _yet_.

"You're a first year?"

What in Merlin's name was wrong with this boy? Obviously she didn't want to talk! She'd locked herself in this compartment, hidden herself away, and he'd just invited himself in, demanded she reset the spells he'd broken through, and now he expected her to want to converse with him? But he couldn't know what she knew, so she nodded quietly.

"You'll be in Ravenclaw," he said matter-of-factly.

She wanted to tell him she was a Gryffindor (and proud of it!), but she didn't. She just shrugged, "I suppose I'll find out when we arrive."

Besides, who knew where she'd end up now?

* * *

When they pulled into the station, Hermione didn't waste any time hurrying out of her compartment. There was an odd flicker in the boy's eyes when she rushed out, but she didn't have the time to examine it as it disappeared quickly and she was outside not soon after. She made her way over to the boats and sat down in one with three other children. Two of them were obvious Gryffindors, chatting about loudly and trying to put on a brave face. The other... well, she suspected Slytherin by the way he eyed the two in disdain. When he turned to her, she made sure she was staring at the newly-sighted castle in awe. She could see him turn away in her peripheral and tried not to smirk. Honestly, how obvious could he get? Slytherins were supposed to be subtle... well, that was a lie. Look at Tom, he'd acted like a right prick on the train without bothering to hide his hate and suspicion and interest from her. Ah well. Nobody could be perfect. But she still wasn't about to talk to whoever this boy was, especially not after that foul look he'd given those probable-Gryffindors.

The boats docked and the students piled out, following the grounds-keeper to the door where he knocked loudly. The doors opened to reveal Professor Dumbledore. He beamed at the group of terrified eleven-year-olds and led them inside, chatting all the while about the castle and the Houses. When he left them alone, Hermione was a bit sad to see that the ghosts didn't make an appearance. It would seem that the tradition of scaring the students with ghosts didn't come about until later. That was a shame – she'd have liked to see the firsties scream in (innocent, non-fatal) terror.

Professor Dumbledore came back and told them to line up alphabetically, nudging them into a clean line. Hermione was a bit surprised at this, since in her time Professor McGonagall (_McGonagall!_) hadn't forced them into such an organized line. Regardless, she got in line behind seven students whose surnames came before hers and walked behind them as they entered the Great Hall. She smiled fondly at the Enchanted Ceiling and then her eyes slid down to the Sorting Hat. The Hat opened up its material mouth and burst into song. At the end, the entire Hall burst into applause, though the first years clapped a bit tentatively (except her, for she felt much more confident than the rest of her peers). The Sorting had begun.

"Chase, Hermione," Dumbledore eventually called, eyes twinkling mischievously at her as he pointed to the stool with a fake stern expression, mimicking the finger-pointing she'd done to him and her parents whilst saying manual labour was good for people. She flushed red and heard the students around her muttering, probably wondering if they knew each other or if she'd done something wrong.

She sat on the stool and watched the Hall disappear as the Hat fell over her eyes. A moment later she heard its voice speaking in her head, "Well, well, what have we here? Time traveller? No... hmm, I haven't come across something like this before..."

_Of course not_, Hermione thought.

"Just because no one has ever heard of something like this does not mean it hasn't happened before.

"Now, enough of that. If you had time-travelled, then you would have broken the time-space continuum with your arrival. The butterfly effect, as you think of it, would have ensured a paradox of some sort. That or you would be completing actions you'd already done, as you did in what was once your third year. But no, this is something entirely different I suspect. One cannot be born again and gain new magic naturally as you have. You may call what you have seen a gift, or a vision. You are no longer Hermione Granger, but Hermione Chase. Lay to rest your old life and pick up this new one. Your parents would certainly prefer it were you to start paying more attention to the living world than to the life you left behind."

Hermione felt slightly ashamed. The Hat was right, really. She'd been so set on being an adult, so set on knowing everything already, on reading and thinking and trying to figure it all out, that she hadn't given them the love and affection they deserved for raising her, loving her, and taking care of her. No wonder they hadn't had any other children – they'd probably been afraid that they would produce another odd, selfish, hermit of a child!

The Hat chuckled but released the subject, "Now, I think I know where to put you. Your desire to change the world for the better, knowing what prejudice and discrimination you will face, tells me you would make a perfect Gryffindor – as you've been already – but would it be best, I wonder?"

_What do you mean?_ She wondered.

"You could certainly help a lot of people, no doubt about that, but... would it not be better to belong to a House with no prejudice? A House known for acting as it deems logical? It might be more difficult to gain sympathizers without a shoe-in in Gryffindor, but the right path is usually not the easiest. You could reach far more than just Gryffindors and Light wizards were you not placed into the lion's den."

_Ravenclaw, you mean? That's what Voldemort said..._

"He is not Voldemort. Do not make that mistake. He is nothing more than a boy with a troubled past, one who craves for recognition of any kind."

_But the hate in his eyes... I've never seen such a look on a child before._

"You've never seen a child grow up as he has. Even your Mr. Potter seems to have had a better childhood, cupboard under the stairs, starvation, bars on the windows and all!"

_Really? I suppose... I suppose, then, that you're implying nurture to be the cause?_

"That certainly that plays a great part in it. A child cannot be born evil. He may have an inclination to behave in a certain way, to contract certain diseases, or to prefer certain magics, but just because he may hereditarily gain the _potential_ to attain these attributes does not mean he will gain the attributes themselves. Someone whose father is prone to alcoholism might be more susceptible to becoming an alcoholic himself, but that does not mean he will. There is always a choice."

_Always a choice_, she mused. Yes. Harry had once told her that he could have easily turned out the way Voldemort had, angry and hateful for the way he'd been treated, but then he'd found her and Ron and the two of them had stopped him from walking that dark path, pulling him back before he could be consumed by his anger and hate.

She'd decided. She would forget her bias. That was the only way.

"Excellent, excellent! But know this: just because you cannot forsake these children immediately does not mean you should not be cautious. Tom Riddle can certainly be dangerous if you anger him and if he has the opportunity – you must simply make sure he has neither the desire nor the chance to cause harm!"

_Oh, it's that simple, is it?_ she thought sarcastically.

The Hat laughed, its voice echoing in the Great Hall, no longer in her head. "RAVENCLAW!" it called. "And best of luck, Miss Chase!" it added quietly in her head before being pulled off.

Dumbledore eyed her curiously and she realized that she must have been under the Hat for a good five minutes at least. Ravenclaw was barely even clapping for her, obviously taking her time spent under the Hat as a slight of some sort. She barely refrained from rolling her eyes. Smiling once more at Dumbledore, and giving an unimpressed look to the clearly grinning Hat, she spun on her heel and headed toward her new House table, sitting beside the only other first year, a girl whose last name was Bell (_any relation to Katie?_ she wondered). The girl eyed her curiously but turned politely back to the Sorting when she'd gotten a good look at Hermione. Hermione hoped that people would forget about her long Sorting, but when she spotted a curious-looking Tom Riddle staring at her from the next table over, she realized that there were some who would likely not forget so easily, even after the Feast.

* * *

The next day, Saturday, Hermione sat in the Great Hall eating her breakfast. Ravenclaw Tower had looked exactly as she remembered it. The layout of Hogwarts was exactly as she remembered it. The only differences were the wear and tear of the castle (certain walls would gain cracks, some marks would appear on the floors and carpets) and the location of the paintings. Otherwise it was exactly the same. And now she sat eating her breakfast, waiting for the final piece of news. It was this more than anything that would confirm that her memories of most things were reliable. There were certain things one could control, but an event this large would be impossible to reconstruct in exact detail.

Her newspapers finally arrived, both the _Daily Prophet_ and the _Daily Sketch_. She put the _Prophet_ aside for the moment and unrolled the Muggle paper. There, written in big, bold letters, was the headline: "Germany Invades Poland: UK to Officially Declare War Tomorrow!" She gasped. There it was: the final proof. Britain was set to declare war on Germany tomorrow, the third of September, 1939. Hogwarts was small fry compared to the Second World War. No, this life was just as real as her last – it was just as the Sorting Hat had said. She had a second chance at life, with a glimpse at a potential future. A future she would do anything to avoid.

She spent the rest of the morning reading the Muggle paper cover-to-cover and nibbling on her breakfast in between articles. It appeared as though the events in the Muggle war would happen as she vaguely recalled they had (it'd been years since she learned about the great wars in primary school). She was thankful for this, because it meant that after this final war, Muggle England would be (mostly) at peace for the better part of a century – she would be an old woman by the time she reached 2027 again. And though it pained her to do, she forcefully put away the memories of her past life. The Sorting Hat was right: she was Hermione Aeliana Chase, a eleven-year-old girl. She was no longer a middle-aged woman, so she could no longer act like it. She would have to do something to make up for what she'd put her parents through. No doubt they were hurt that their daughter treated them so distantly.

She would start small, she decided. She'd write a letter to them, telling them of her sorting, of Ravenclaw Tower, of how lovely the castle was... and of how much she missed their company and her bed and their home – and who would push her now to be active, to take time away from her studies now that they weren't there? Hermione knew, having once been a mother herself, that such a letter would be read with care. Her parents would feel bittersweet, thinking that she'd finally realized how important they were to her and how much she loved them – it would also prove to them that she _was_ their little girl, a little girl far from home and stuck in a strange, new place she didn't know without her parents there to guide her. Yes, she would write them. And thank them for their thoughtfulness in having her papers delivered to her here at Hogwarts.

"Could I borrow that?"

Hermione looked up from the Muggle newspaper and blinked her eyes back into focus to spot the boy who'd addressed her. He appeared to be a Hufflepuff seventh year, a Prefect. Odd that he was speaking to a first year Ravenclaw. "You want my paper?" she asked confusedly.

"If you wouldn't mind my borrowing it. This is the first time I've ever seen someone receive a Muggle newspaper in Hogwarts before," he said.

"Really? Well, I suppose most children wouldn't want to read the news," she mused. "But of course I'll share. In fact, I've already finished reading it, so you can keep it if you'd like."

He took the paper from her extended hands and smiled kindly at her, thanking her profusely before heading over to his House's table. Hermione looked after him, a frown on her face. It was odd that no one had gotten a Muggle newspaper here before. Why, when she was a Granger, there were dozens of students who got Muggle newspapers and magazines! No matter. This was another era all together, the twentieth century in its early stages, and she didn't know much about it culturally. She would have to learn as she muddled along, and she would try to subtly change things for the better as she went. Things would be peaceful and egalitarian in the wizarding world once more, even if it took her a century to make it so!

What Hermione didn't know was that her having brought a Muggle newspaper into Hogwarts would change a lot more than she ever thought possible.


	4. Wizarding Traditions

**AN: **So here's chapter three! The plot is really starting to come out (though you won't have any idea what the hell I'm talking about until certain events happen - I'm trying for a more subtle plot this time, for the first time, really, so I hope it turns out). Haha, this would have been posted way earlier today, except I just woke up like an hour ago... but it's here now, so enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Three: Wizarding Traditions**

Her first class was Charms, and she was pleased to see that Flitwick was still teaching it (or rather he'd begun teaching earlier than she'd expected). The small half-goblin was just as cheerful as he'd been in her first life, but he was more disciplined and expected more of his students. She supposed that he had yet to be disenchanted with teaching; he had yet to discover that some students wouldn't care or try no matter how much you pushed them or how often you punished and penialized them.

The students appeared to be diligent, but Hermione found that the female students seemed to be either holding back or were just dumber than their male counterparts. When she'd answered a question correctly (detailed and including more than first-year level theory), Flitwick had stared at her in shock. The rest of the students had looked at her as an anomaly, whispering about that odd girl who was smart even for a Ravenclaw - and especially smart for a girl (too smart, she'd heard , on several occasions). It frustrated her greatly that her fellow Ravenclaw dorm mates didn't try nearly as hard as the boys did. She knew they were smart - they were _Ravenclaws_, of course they were - yet they hid their minds behind hair-styling tips, cleaning and cooking charms, and fantasies about marrying this or that boy in the future. It was wretched for Hermione, who'd been fighting (and gaining) for equal rights for all sexes and all races all her past life. She wanted to scream and slap those silly girls - and punch the boys who tried to patronize her. It seemed that she was doomed to be called a know-it-all in both lives, reviled for her knowledge and her thirst to learn more.

Well, not everyone reviled her for her mind. No, there were some students and professors who were intrigued. Flitwick certainly respected her, as did Dumbledore (who twinkled at her knowingly). Slughorn had taken a while to adjust to her having smarts, but when he did he invited her to join the Slug Club. She was the first female to join the group, and as such even more things were whispered about her (none of which were pleasant, most of which were shocking as they involved an eleven-year-old girl doing things she ought not to even think about for at least another couple of years). Her other professors tended to ignore her or stare at her as though she were a specimen to be studied under a microscope. She hated that. But as long as they marked her work fairly, which they did even if it was grudgingly, then she had nothing to say to them.

And, of course, there was Tom Riddle. Hermione hadn't seen him at all in her first month of school, when the students (and professors, undoubtedly) started gossiping about her. She'd forgotten all about him, actually, and breathed a sigh of relief because she thought that she'd somehow managed to avoid his attentions. Until one day she sat in the library working on her Defense Against the Dark Arts essay (on the many differences between jinxes, hexes, and curses) and he joined her at her table.

* * *

She'd gathered the necessary books and had them spread out in front of her, checking them briefly every once in a while as she scratched out her essay. It was almost insulting how clean her essays were now that she knew how to properly use a quill (a skill she hadn't learned until her fourth year, when Professor Mcgonagall had taken her aside to show her the proper use and maintenance of quills). But she'd been sitting there on her own, peacefully and absent-mindedly writing while surrounded by books, when Tom Riddle walked up to her table, moved several books aside to clear a space before him, and sat down without a word. At first she didn't know what to do, staring at him without blinking as her mind tried to catch up. He was sitting there beside her, pulling out his own books and parchment and setting them down on the table along with an ink bottle.

"Erm, excuse me?" she asked.

"What?" he asked suspiciously, eyes lifting off his own writing to stare narrowly at her.

"You moved my books," she stated sharply.

"Yes," he replied.

Then he dismissed any other questions she might have by turning back to his homework. The boy flipped through his textbook a bit, read through a couple of pages in another text, even tugged one of _her_ books towards him so that he could skim through a chapter. Hermione didn't know what to do. No one, _no one_, had _ever_ interrupted her studying like this before. Harry and Ron had whined to her for help, but when she was surrounded by books like she was now, they didn't touch them! They didn't turn the pages and - and _dismiss_ her! That horrible boy was acting as though he were being _polite_! The nerve of him!

"You can't just take my books like that!" she scolded. "I was using them!"

"I turned it back to the page you were at," he said slowly.

"You _touched_ it! You - you! You don't just interrupt my studying like that, taking away the books I'm using! You'll interrupt my concentration and train of thought!"

"_You're_ the one being disruptive."

"I can't believe you," she groused.

"Those are library books, free for any and all students to read - though I'm sure you're the first _girl_ to read that particular book. Really, you ought to leave it for us men to read and worry about more important things, like your hair or something."

Hermione snarled, baring her teeth at this arrogant, sexist _boy_. Then she saw the amusement in his eyes and realized that he was having her on. His dark eyes, which might have been grey but could have been blue or brown or green for all she could see from this distance, were almost sparkling . Upon seeing this she immediately calmed down, forcing a serene expression on her face. "You must be the first _boy_ to have read it, then. Perhaps you should stick to readings closer to your age-group, like fairy stories," she calmly said, disregarding the fact that she was supposed to be a year younger than he was.

He glared, his face flushing in fury at her slight. "I'm not a _child_," he snarled.

"Oh? From where I'm sitting, you certainly look like a child. Children tend to take things without asking permission, you know. They also avoid common courtesies such as introducing themselves. In that respect, _dear_, you really are a child."

"I'm not a child," he repeated, "and my name's Tom Riddle, not _dear_."

"It's very nice to meet you, Tom, dear," she cooed.

He glared at her again before his face became blank and he went back to ignoring her in favour of his homework. She wondered what had possessed her to tease him in such a manner, but decided not to think on it. His childish demeanor and physicality had practically _asked_ to be teased with how serious he acted. Maybe that little bit of friendly condescension would prove good for him?

Throughout the month of October Tom Riddle had joined her in the library whenever he wasn't off doing whatever it was Slytherin boys did. At first she'd had a hard time adjusting, but eventually the only options were to either avoid the library or to ignore Tom's presence. So she ignored him, and neither of them spoke beyond small talk pleasantries. Occasionally they would ask the other if they could borrow a book, but aside from that they said nothing. Every evening, when their homework was complete and the library was about to close, they would bid each other goodbye and Hermione would call him _dear_. Just to rile him up. He ignored that for the most part, but she had a feeling that the boy actually _liked_ it. She'd caught the ghost of a smile once as he was turning away. It was a little strange, but she'd gotten used to it after a month. Maybe her plan to make him amiable was working? She didn't see him outside of the library or mealtimes though, so she couldn't say for certain that she was having any effect on him.

* * *

It was Halloween and Hermione was in Charms class. They would be doing the Levitation Charm, just as she'd done the first time she'd been at Hogwarts, but this time she would adamantly _not_ help the other students. No, she'd learned her lesson thoroughly. Kids her physical age did not like being corrected by anyone their own age, let alone by a _girl_ their own age. No, she wouldn't help anyone unless they asked for her help.

That didn't mean she wouldn't answer the teacher's questions to the best of her abilities though... even if that meant correcting other students. So perhaps she hadn't learned her lesson as thoroughly as she claimed to have, because she couldn't help but open her mouth and detail the proper answer.

"The Levitation Charm is the easiest charm out there," Evan Rosier said in regards to why they were learning this charm first.

"Very good Mr. Rosier," Flitwick praised, "five points to Slytherin! Now, can anyone tell me why this is so on this occassion?"

He was _wrong_. Rosier had given the basic answer, true, but it was still the _wrong_ answer. The Levitation Charm was _not_ the easiest. Hermione could name about a dozen or more charms that were easier to perform and required less power, and that was off the top of her head! Hermione raised her hand, vibrating in her seat. She didn't wave her hand around though because Snape had already scorned her for such antics.

"Miss Chase," Flitwick motioned for her to answer.

"The Levitation Charm is simultaneously one of the easiest and most difficult charms magically. The power put into the charm depends solely on the mass of the object in levitation – hence the reason we first use feathers. Feathers are light, so they're the perfect object for children with small cores to use when learning. A feather requires barely any power to lift. Contrarily, lifting something as heavy as one of the House tables would take an exponential amount of power in comparison, as they weigh something like 12, 000 kg. A seventh year would have difficulty doing it without combining it with a Featherweight Charm. After applying the Featherweight Charm, it would still require more power than levitating a feather because your magic has to work in conjunction with the first charm without altering it."

Flitwick, who'd gotten used to Hermione's intelligence through her homework assignments, looked pleased and awarded her twenty points for such an advanced explanation. Hermione could tell that she and Flitwick were the only ones to fully understand what she'd said, but the baffled looks her peers wore pleased her immensely. She enjoyed being clever; it was what made Hermione Hermione. And she might have been showing off a little, just to prove that she could _even if she was a girl_.

As the students turned toward their feathers and either attempted or succeeded in performing the charm, Hermione ignored the group of glaring Slytherins and thought nothing of it. She knew she wouldn't make any friends this way, but there wasn't any way that she would dumb herself down just to fit in. She wouldn't be an idiot woman like most of the girls she'd come across in this time. The worse part about that was that they had the _potential_ to do better and yet they ignored that potential in favour of boys and marriages. Her mother was one of the few women she knew who acted intelligently, but Hermione knew that the only reason she'd gotten the chance to be a Healer and not just another Medi-Witch (nurse equivalent) was that her father had insisted upon it. He'd been the one to owl the Ministry and St. Mungo's about it, to find her an apprenticeship. Other working women were secretaries or Medi-Witches or teachers for young children. Hermione planned to get wherever she was going to get on her own merits. She didn't want to have to rely on any man to do something for her.

* * *

That same evening found Hermione feasting with her housemates, marveling at how very different the meal was compared to what the meal would be in the future. Instead of ingesting piles of candy (and only candy, as there hadn't been anything else offered), there were autumn fruits and vegetables, the meat of wild game, nuts, and cider instead of pumpkin juice. She would sweat that the seventh years were even drinking mead. It was odd, but nice at the same time. The feast was... natural, containing all foods available at this time of year. The only sweets were pumpkin pies and nut and fruit tarts.

When she thought on it, she remembered eating a similar meal (though on a smaller scale) with her family on this day each year since she'd been born in this time. It struck her that this was the pagan holiday of Samhain, the end of the harvest season and the welcoming of winter. Apparently witches and wizards at this time actually observed this holiday, which she found strange because she hadn't ever seen anything like it before - she hadn't even realized that she'd been celebrating it for twelve years now, thinking nothing of it outside of having to see her extended family.

She could hear a fourth year Ravenclaw explaining the significance of this day to one of the Muggleborns of her House, and Hermione felt suddenly sad that this tradition would be lost in a few decades. Why had it vanished? She could tell that the Muggleborns felt a little uncomfortable at first, but after they'd had the holiday explained to them - and there were people lecturing the newcomers at each House table - they appeared quite pleased with it. It was their heritage, after all, their connection to magic and through that the earth and the seasons. So why had this tradition vanished?

"Excuse me, Helena," Hermione caught the attention of the fifth year Ravenclaw prefect, "do you know of anyone who doesn't like to observe Samhain?"

The girl blinked in surprise, "Why would you want to know that?"

"I'm just curious. It seems like the Muggleborns are accepting the tradition rather well, but I thought perhaps that there might be people who didn't like it."

"Well... I suppose Professor Dumbledore doesn't like it. You'll notice he's not at the Head table. I don't think I've seen him attend the Samhain Feast since my first year here."

Hermione frowned. Dumbledore didn't like it? Surely Dumbledore wouldn't have abolished it when he'd become Headmaster? But then, only the Headmaster had the power to change school traditions. "Do you know why that is?" she asked.

Helena rolled her eyes and replied rather snidely, "He says it's an insult to Muggleborns and their traditions, the fool. You've already noticed that the Muggleborns enjoy celebrating Samhain once they learn of it; it makes them feel like they're part of our world. I don't know why Dumbledore thinks otherwise. He's a halfblood himself, but he acts like an ignorant Muggle sometimes."

"He acts like a Muggle?" she wondered.

Helena nodded, "Caters to them, more like. Some of the Muggle parents complained about the feast a few years ago, calling it _heathen_ or some such rot. Dippet gave a speech about it, about accepting Muggleborns into our world by passing down our traditions and such, but Dumbledore looked unimpressed. That's why most of the purebloods don't like him anymore – he might be a genius when it comes to Transfiguration, and he might have discovered the ten uses of dragon's blood, but he keeps trying to bring Muggle nonsense into our world, things like Christmas and Valentine's Day, whatever that is. It's disgusting."

Hermione was dumbfounded. Helena had to be joking. She had to be! Dumbledore wouldn't destroy centuries worth of traditions just to make Muggle parents feel better - Muggles who wouldn't ever even _see_ Hogwarts. Even Hermione knew that that was wrong. It would destroy wizarding Britain`s culture and alienate all the purebloods and halfbloods who still practiced the old traditions. Was this one of the reasons purebloods had followed Voldemort and hated Dumbledore? This could be the origin of the loathing some pureblood families had for Dumbledore and his lot. It made an astounding amount of sense if the idiotic man was trying to - to _Muggleize _the wizarding world. Frankly, Hermione didn't feel too charitable toward him now that she'd heard this – especially after all he'd done (would do or _could_ do) to Harry.

"You look like you don't believe me."

"I - how could he want to do that? Our traditions make us who we are!"

"He's mad, that's how."

"But - _why_? _Why_ would he want to take this away from us? It's not harming anyone. There are even Muggles who celebrate Samhain and Yule!"

"Are there? Hmm.. probably descended from squibs, I'll bet. Look, Hermione, I don't claim to know how that man's mind works, but it's true. I just hope he doesn't become Headmaster or Minister of Magic or Chief Warlock _or_ Supreme Mugwump. The second that man has any power, he's going to destroy our world. Next thing you know, we'll be living alongside Muggles and serving them!"

"Serving them?" Hermione was startled. It was one thing to amalgamate Muggle traditions into their culture, another entirely to _serve_ them!

"He seems to think we should share our knowledge and magic with them. Honestly, he's such a fool. The second we show ourselves to them it'll be the Witch Burnings all over again. I've even heard of their _science_ and the things they do with it. They'd probably cut us apart to find the root of our magic just to take it for themselves!"

"Are you a pureblood supremacist?" Hermione wondered.

Helena snorted, "Are you kidding? Of course not! I don't even mind Muggles mostly, but that doesn't mean I'm stupid. If they find out about us, we're doomed. They outnumber us a thousand to one at least! No, we're better off hidden away, even if it's inconvenient at times. That's what Grindelwald – he's a Dark Lord on the Continent – is claiming we shouldn't do. He's an idiot, too. Hiding is the safest option for us."

"Do most wizards and witches feel that way?"

"'Course they do! Merlin, didn't your parents ever teach you about the sufferings of our people before the Statute of Secrecy?"

"No." They hadn't. Hermione's parents had left her to her books but for the times they forced her to go outside and get some exercise. It seemed that their belief of her being a squib prevented them from telling her anything bad about Muggle and wizard relations.

"That's odd."

"So parents usually warn you away from Muggles? Tell you horror stories about them?"

"Some families like the Malfoys or the Blacks might, but most parents just teach their kids to be careful around Muggles, to hide their magic. The stories of the Burnings, while part of our cultural heritage, are mostly used to warn us and remind us about what might happen if we stopped hiding."

"Hmm," Hermione mused. Now that she thought of it, it made a frightening amount of sense. Her own parents of her past life, the Grangers, had always been a little uncomfortable with her magic. They'd been impressed, yes, but they'd also had an almost instinctual fear of it. Despite that, they hadn't condemned her. They'd supported her fully, even going so far as to try to understand her schoolwork and government. She could tell how badly that could potentially have gone, though. Had there been Muggle parents who'd tried to harm their magical child? Stupid question - of course there were! Harry himself had been abused by his relatives! There were countless Muggleborns and halfbloods with Muggle parents, and there were undoubtedly parents who feared and hated their child for his or her magic.

So Dumbledore was trying to smooth things over for those parents, then. That had to be it. The man wanted Muggles to feel more comfortable in their world, even if they didn't belong there. He took a complete one-eighty to the pureblood take-over-the-world wretchedness he'd chatted with Grindelwald about in his childhood. He was probably trying to make up for it or something, to make sure that the Muggles had nothing to fear from witches and wizards who might have ideas like he had had. That logic explained things like the uniform, which, while they did include robes, were trousers for the boys and gymslips for the girls. That was Muggle attire; wizards would have just worn the robes, but Muggles would feel that it was too much like a dress to be worn by men. As a matter of fact, she'd noticed that purebloods tended not to wear their uniform outside of classes and feasts, choosing to wear robes instead. So even the clothes were being altered by Muggle influence.

How hadn't she realized this? How had she - how had she _helped to destroy_ her world's traditions? Change was all well and good, but this... this was conscious eradication of a functioning culture. The world she had left behind was more Muggle than wizard, where wizards and witches only wore robes for ceremonial occasions or while in a court-type setting. They had had holidays on the same days Muggles did, celebrating Christmas and Valentine's and Halloween – hell, they'd even forced bank holidays upon the goblins. Hermione had thought that they'd be happy to get a day off, but they had been angry and insulted and now she knew why. She should have known better than to force her beliefs on others – she should have tried to _learn_ about wizarding culture before making any judgements. But no, she'd let people like Malfoy cloud her vision and people like Dumbledore tell her she could change anything to suit her own morals and tastes.

She couldn't let that happen again – she _wouldn't_ let it happen! There wouldn't be a Voldemort, she'd make sure of that, but there would definitely be someone on the opposite end of the political arena, someone who could face Dumbledore and say _No, this is _our_ culture, and we won't let you abolish our traditions and beliefs_. She'd just have to find someone to play the role – someone who would _want_ to play the role. And then her world would live and grow. There would be schools for Muggleborns, teaching them from a young age about the world their magic ensured they be a part of. There could be orphanages for magical children, so that people like Tom Riddle wouldn't be abandoned to face the scorn and fear from Muggles. There would be statutory holidays to celebrate Samhain and Yule and the Equinoxes (and _how_ hadn't she noticed that her family celebrated such things? Had she really been so out of it, so separated?). And the Hogwarts uniform would be _robes_, not trousers or dresses or skirts based on Muggle clothing. She would preserve this world, _her_ world. Now that she knew it would vanish, she wouldn't sit by and let it die. She would fight.


	5. Making Friends

**AN: **Sorry it's a day late, but I had _such_ a hard time writing the last bit. I still don't really like it, and there are probably errors left and right because I didn't get a chance to reread it the four times I usually do, but I promised to try and have this out once a week, and this is the end of the week... so here it is. Hopefully it turned out okay, regardless... and next chapter you can find out what the hell was up with the newspaper!

* * *

**Chapter Four: Making Friends**

It was Saturday night and Hermione had just said goodbye to Tom in the library. She was walking along the chilly corridor with her cloak wrapped tightly around her to protect her from the bitter cold. She really wished Hogwarts would invest in heating charms. She might have to try and convince a professor to let seventh year Ancient Runes and Charms students work together on a project to keep the entire school at an acceptable temperature. It was ridiculous (not to mention dangerous) having to walk around in the cold when she was inside. At least the classrooms, Great Hall, library, common room, and dormitories were an acceptable temperature. Otherwise she'd complain loudly. As it was, she was already forced to perform a fourth-year Heating Charm on herself whenever she ventured out into the castle. It was hard to hide something like that from other students; Tom had already figured it out and demanded she teach him the charm and tell him where she learnt it (_Oh, my parents are Healers and they taught me so that I wouldn't get sick from the cold_).

"Oi, Chase, it's time you learned your place!"

Hermione whirled around in time to duck a Stupefy, pulling out her wand and facing a group of first year Slytherin boys. It was Rosier who'd spoken, the boy she'd shown up in Charms class the previous week. "What do you want?" she asked, levelling her wand at the five boys. Merlin, it was the entire group of first year male Slytherins!

"I already told you. You need to learn your place. No _girl_ is going to make me look bad in front of the Professors!"

Hermione didn't reply. She didn't really want the situation to escalate, but what was there to do? She was outnumbered, cornered in a dark corridor an hour before curfew. No one would likely show up before these snakes attacked her. It was so like the cowards to do something like this when they thought their prey couldn't fight back and win. She'd have to show them if they didn't leave her alone. "I'm sorry, Rosier," she apologized insincerely.

"Sorry's not good enough. You won't do it again, if you know what's good for you."

Well, she wasn't about to just let him threaten her like that! "I'll do what I please, and it pleases me to answer the Professors' questions correctly. I won't dumb myself down to match _your_ level, otherwise I'd get a Troll on everything," she mocked. In for a Knut, in for a Galleon and all that.

"Furnunculus!"

Hermione raised a silent Protego and stared at the boy without amusement. "Really, Rosier, I already told you you've the intelligence of a troll compared to me. What makes you think you could out-duel me?"

"Eviscero!" Rosier cried.

Hermione's eyes widened as she heard the incantation for the Disembowelment Curse. She hadn't the time to perform a higher-powered shield to take Dark curses, so she was forced to throw herself aside. She landed hard on the stone floor, banging her elbow painfully, but she hadn't been hit. How in the name of Merlin did a first year know such an evil curse?

"Expelliarmus! Stupefy!"

She jumped to her feet and stared in complete and utter surprise as Tom Riddle disarmed and stunned all five boys. He quirked his lips when he saw her gaping mouth and said, "You're welcome."

She sputtered a moment before getting her bearings back. When she did, she immediately shouted, "I was handling it!"

"Looked like it," he patronized. "You were about to be eviscerated. I'd say you were handling it pretty well."

"I dodged! I wasn't _expecting_ him to know such a horrible curse!"

"He's a Slytherin, and a Rosier. Of course he knows curses. Now come, before someone sees us."

"But we should tell a teacher! He could get in a lot of trouble for that – he _should_ get in a lot of trouble!"

Tom sighed and stared at her as though she were naive, "Hermione—"

But he was cut off as another voice echoed along the corridor, "I say! What happened?"

The two standing children turned sideways to face the newcomer and Hermione almost groaned when she realized that it was Slughorn.

"Tom, Hermione! What happened? I didn't expect to find you two, of all people, hexing your classmates!"

"We weren't, Professor," Tom said calmly. "I was leaving the library after Hermione when I heard someone shouting. I thought I'd investigate, and I'm glad I did because Rosier here tried to curse her. They had her cornered, for whatever reason."

"Is this true?" Slughorn asked her.

She nodded.

"But why would they do such a thing? And which curse did they use? I must know the exact details if I'm to punish them properly."

Hermione didn't really want to tell them _why_ she'd been attacked. Being a brainy know-it-all had always done her a disservice – but, this was Slughorn. "On Samhain Rosier answered a question in Charms class, but he wasn't entirely correct in his answer, so when Professor Flitwick asked, I gave a more detailed response. I guess he didn't like being shown up by a girl, so he came to... I don't know, teach me manners or something."

Tom was frowning, his narrowed eyes glaring at the unconscious Rosier. Slughorn looked disappointed in his Slytherin, but he asked her to continue.

"Well, he first tried to stun me, but I got out of the way. Then he tried to give me boils – Furnunculus was the incantation he used – but I used a Shield Spell to divert it. And then..."

"He used the Disembowelment Curse, Professor," Tom cut in sharply, seeing Hermione hesitate.

"The Disembowelment Curse!" Slughorn exclaimed. "Are you certain? A curse like that... why, Mr. Rosier would be lucky to not be expelled!"

"You could check his wand, sir," Tom suggested.

"Right, right," their Potions Professor muttered, taking the five wands from Tom and, after finding Rosier's, casting Priori Incantato. The last spell used was Eviscero, much to Slughorn's horror. "We shall have to bring this up with the Headmaster, this is way over my head. You're lucky Mr. Riddle showed up when he did, Miss Chase. A curse like that could have killed you! Oh, this won't do! This won't do at all!"

* * *

The next morning Hermione sat in the Headmaster's office going over what she'd already told Professor Slughorn. Tom was called in afterwards to give his own account of things, and Headmaster Dippet looked deeply unhappy throughout it all. "Miss Chase, I have already informed your parents of the events of last night. They insisted upon seeing you and will be arriving shortly."

The fireplace flashed green and Hermione's parents stepped through. The moment her mother spotted her, Hermione cringed. Junia Chase let out a desperate cry and flung herself forward to wrap her daughter in her arms. Hermione's arms flailed as she lost her balance, but her mum held her too close and too tight for her to move anyway. When her mother finally let go, wiping tears from her eyes, her father took Hermione into his arms and gruffly said he was glad she was alright. Then they sat down and pulled her in between them and her father finally spoke to the Headmaster, "I hope something is being done to protect my daughter from further altercations."

"I assure you, Mr. Chase, that this shall never happen again."

"How can you guarantee that? Who's to say this boy was the first to attack my daughter? What if there are others entertaining the same desire? _Why_ did that filthy little bastard attack my little girl?"

Hermione grimaced at his over-protectiveness. It was nice, to be sure, but it was also really annoying. She _knew_ how to defend herself. Honestly, even _if_ she had been hit by that curse, she could have easily reversed the damage. Not that her parents knew that...

"Is this the little bugger?" her father demanded when he spotted Tom. He glared fiercely at the uncomfortable boy, hand twitching toward his wand.

"Dad!" Hermione shouted. "Dad, that's Tom! I wrote you about him, remember? He's not the one who attacked me!"

"Oh," her father intoned, shoulders sagging.

"It was actually Tom who caught the attackers. He disarmed and stunned all five of them," Dippet told her parents.

"Really?" her mother asked, eyeing Tom. "That's rather impressive. Who're your parents, dear?"

Tom's eyes snapped to her before he quickly averted his gaze. "I never knew my parents," he told her mother quietly.

Her mother gasped and clutched her chest in surprise. Even her father looked startled. "Are you staying with your extended family, then? We really must do something to show our thanks. You've saved my daughter's life, you know," her mum went on.

Hermione rolled her eyes at that – he hadn't _saved_ her! She would have taken care of it all by herself if he hadn't shown up! She held back a huff, crossing her arms and sulking at the slight to her prowess.

"I don't have any family," Tom muttered.

"But where do you live?" her mother wondered gently.

Tom's lips were white he was pressing them so tightly together. "I grew up in an orphanage," he snapped after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

Hermione's parents tightened their grip on her and she saw her father's brow furrow. "Where is this orphanage located?" he finally asked.

"London," he said shortly.

Hermione's father looked disconcerted and her mother worried. "Thank you for helping our daughter," her mother said. "If there's anything you need, please don't hesitate to ask it of us. Wizards and witches take debts seriously, unlike our Muggle counterparts. We're duty-bound to help you if you need it, since you've helped us."

The Deputy Headmaster arrived shortly after her parents and tried to lighten Rosier's punishment, saying detention and point loss would be enough, but Dippet actually put his foot down and said that near-murder would not be tolerated at Hogwarts. Hermione found herself respecting the Headmaster more for standing up to Dumbledore. She'd always heard that he was a pushover, but apparently he actually cared about the safety of his students. Dumbledore was too soft-hearted and forgiving, wanting to forgive and forget and give twenty chances to wrong-doers. Dippet and her parents didn't let him do it though, for which Hermione was glad. She really would have hated having to watch her back the rest of the term; this way, she didn't have to worry about Rosier until he got back from his suspension, and even then he'd have a _handler._

Not long after the punishment was decided, the two children were sent out of the room. Tom was awarded points and Hermione was told not to worry because Rosier was suspended until after Yule, and when he got back he'd be under probation and forced to be accompanied by a Professor or a Prefect. Hermione felt marginally better about that, thankful that Dippet took punishments seriously, unlike Dumbledore. Hopefully Rosier would think twice before attacking another first year.

* * *

A week before Hermione would board the Hogwarts Express for the Yule holiday, she received a cryptic letter from her parents.

_Hermione,_ it read in her mother's script.

_We're so excited for the holidays to start so we can see you again. This year we've got a rather big surprise for you, one we hope you'll enjoy. Our family has always been Light-oriented, but we haven't always practiced what we preach. Sometimes it is difficult to take action because you feel that it is not your duty to do so, but if there is something that can be done, Hermione, you must always do what you can. "Wait not for a leader when you are able," as is our family motto. It is time we Chases lived up to it. Headmaster Dippet actually helped us to make this decision, though he hadn't known the severity of what was occurring until your father mentioned it. We're hoping that what we will do will encourage other families to do the same. I think you would approve of this, sweetheart, though I won't tell you what it is we've done until you get back. I think you shall be proud of us. Your father and I are, at any rate. _

_We will see you in a week's time, _

_Love, _

_Mum and Dad_

Hermione stared in confusion. What on earth was this about? Take charge? But of what? The only thing she could think of was the war with Grindelwald; but, why would her parents get involved there? They were Healers, not fighters. What could they have done? She hoped, rather selfishly, that they hadn't decided to join in the war effort on the Continent, because even if they acted only as Healers they would still be at risk. They might even be in more danger than a normal fighter, since Healers were of vital importance to the continuance of the fight. She bit her lip in worry but decided not to think too much on it until she learned the full details.

Besides, she had other things to worry about, like the Christmas party Slughorn was holding for members of the Slug Club. She was finally not the only female in attendance, having somehow convinced Slughorn that women would make excellent contacts too. There still weren't too many girls there, only Helena Maestro, the fifth year Ravenclaw prefect who'd told her about Dumbledore and was apparently a genius at Ancient Runes; third year Minerva McGonagall, who was said to be as talented in Transfiguration as Dumbledore had been as a child (and hadn't that shocked Hermione, to see her old professor looking so youthful!); and a seventh year Slytherin called Abelinda Graham who was astonishingly beautiful, mastered curses faster than anyone else in her year, and reminded Hermione so strongly of Blaise Zabini that she could only be his grandmother. Hermione noticed that each of these three girls were high-profile, scoring excellent grades in at least one class and being members of prominent families. It would take Slughorn a while to observe the other girls in Hogwarts in order to find the most talented and connected, but now that he was actively seeking girls as well as boys, he would undoubtedly _collect_ a few more by the end of spring term. For the moment, however, there would only be four girls in attendance at this year's Christmas party.

* * *

The party was held on the last Friday of term, the night before they were set to leave Hogwarts for Yule. Hermione didn't have dress robes, but she did have a formal robe, which she wore for the occasion. It was a deep wine colour and clung loosely to her torso before billowing out at her waist. The thing was highly reminiscent of medieval dress, with a golden belt and long sleeves, but Hermione was rather fond of it. It was pretty, to be sure, but it was also conservative and enabled movement. For a dress, it wasn't half-bad. And Hermione knew that if she wanted to maintain wizarding customs and traditions that she would have to accept them herself – _all_ of them, which included style.

Her world had a style of its own, a style that was part of the culture, part of what made them different from Muggles. Muggles wore trousers and skirts and short (for the time period) dresses, whereas wizards and witches wore robes that skimmed the floor. She would have to get used to it; she would also have to ask her parents for nightgowns from now on, as trousers were a Muggle invention and not at all proper for wizards, let alone witches. No wonder her parents had been so aghast! She'd been bringing in _male, Muggle_ clothing into their home without being any the wiser. And to think, she'd been the brain behind the "Golden Trio".

One thing she wasn't yet ready for, however, was dealing with her hair. Unfortunately, it was just as big and bushy as it had been the last time she was this young. Her mother had apparently had such hair in her youth as well, but age and charms had tempered it. Hermione found it slightly annoying that she had to deal with such hair _twice_, but she had to thank Merlin, Morgana, and Mordred that her Healer parents had shrunk her front teeth. No one could mock them anymore because they were of average size. The rest of her (hair included) looked exactly as she'd looked as Hermione Granger. For that she was glad, since having to get used to a whole new face would have been difficult and slightly disconcerting. No, she was happy to look like herself, whatever her name may be.

"Ah, Miss Chase! Don't you look a vision," Slughorn greeted.

Hermione held back a snort and replied with a polite, "Thank you, Professor."

The man then led her into the party room, which was full, unsurprisingly, of men. There was gentle music playing in the background, filled with fiddles and flutes and pipes. She was almost surprised at the lack of Christmas music, until she noticed that everyone in the room was wearing robes. The whole lot of them were apparently followers of the old traditions, and the music sounded like what might have accompanied old English ballads, nothing like the swing or jazz music Muggles were currently listening to. Hermione liked it; it was sweet and soulful and made her think of magic. Dumbledore _had_ once said that music was "a magic far beyond what we do here", and Hermione was now inclined to believe him. Music _must_ have a magic of its own – but that magic must have been lost.

"I was wondering if I might speak with you, Miss Chase, before I introduce you to some friends of mine," the Professor inquired.

"Of course," Hermione said, though she had no idea what the man would wish to speak with her about.

He gently grabbed hold of her elbow and tugged her into a corner before slyly erecting a privacy ward. This worried her a tad, but as it was Slughorn, she didn't feel the need to worry _too_ much, aside from the unease of being told something he obviously didn't want people to overhear, but wasn't worried about being overheard (why else tell her in a room full of people, when he could have taken her aside after class?). So obviously it was something important, but not something that would make much of a difference if known by everyone. "What is it, Professor?" she asked.

"You seem to be ignoring Mr. Riddle recently; I just wanted to know if everything was alright?"

"I – I'm not _ignoring_ him," she stuttered.

"Tom asked me if you were all right, Miss Chase. He said he hasn't seen you since the night you were attacked. Surely you know that something of that severity shan't happen again? We Professors are conducting more rounds before curfew and we've set up wards in the busier hallways to warn us if someone were to cast harmful spells. You needn't avoid the school; have faith that we will keep you safe. And if not us, then Tom will undoubtedly protect you once more."

Hermione couldn't hold back the scoff, "I could have taken care of it myself – I _was_ taking care of it myself!"

Slughorn shook his head as if at a naïve child, "Miss Chase, I understand that you are far smarter than any your age – except Tom, of course – but intelligence does not equal defensive ability. I know now that I've underestimated the female character in regards to intelligence, but you are still a young lady. You shouldn't need to defend yourself; we men are here to protect you."

"I can do the job just fine," Hermione insisted. This was one thing she wouldn't compromise with – wizarding traditions were all well and good to keep, but sexism _was not_.

"Miss Chase, do not overestimate yourself. You'll only get yourself harmed," he gently chided before taking down the privacy wards. "Now, shall I introduce you to Marcus MacDougal? He heads an architecture company, the biggest in England! I'm sure you'll enjoy speaking to him about the use of Charms in building…"

* * *

An hour and a half later Hermione had finally gotten away from Mr. MacDougal, the insufferable dolt. He'd underestimated her intelligence at first, speaking to her like a mentally-deficient child, and then when she had finally had enough and let her intelligence be known, he'd done nothing but speak of his son. Third-year Ravenclaw Anthony MacDougal this and that, oh he was so clever, so smart, so _handsome_, and wouldn't she just love to meet him? He should invite her over for bloody _tea_ during the holidays. Pah! Hermione had made her excuses and fled as soon as she could (which wasn't soon enough). She'd have to tell her mum and dad not to invite the buffoon over.

"Don't you like Anthony?" someone sneered.

Hermione jumped and spun around to face Tom Riddle. "I've never met him – and I have absolutely _no_ desire to. With a father like that, the bloke's probably insufferable."

Tom's face lost its sneer and gained a smirk. He quirked an eyebrow at her and asked, "But Hermione, he's quite the catch. A husband with connections like that would have you set for life. You wouldn't have to work at all – you'd just have to give MacDougal a couple of kids and you'd be all set."

"I'd rather work," Hermione huffed.

"You don't want children?" he wondered curiously.

She rolled her eyes, "Why must it be one or the other? My mother works, you know."

"And you've turned out fine, of course."

"Tom, dear, I've turned out better than any other girl my age."

"Better than any boy, too," he added.

She laughed, "Of course!"

"So you _do_ want children, then?"

"Darling, we're a bit young to be speaking of such things. We're but children ourselves."

"But you _would_ want them?"

She sighed in exasperation, "Yes, Tom, eventually I would want to have children. But not until I've worked – and not until I've reached my third decade!"

"Hmm," Tom hummed, staring at her as though she were the oddest thing he'd ever seen.

"Stop looking at me like that! I'm not _that_ strange."

"Sure," he teased before becoming serious. "Why have you been avoiding me?"

"I haven't."

"You have. Is that the thanks I get for saving your life?"

"You didn't save my life – I was handling it."

"Because lying on the ground in front of your enemies is handling it."

"I already told you, I didn't have time to erect a shield. I had to dodge. I was just about to stun him when you showed up."

"Nobody believes you, you know. Girls can't duel."

"_I_ can. And you'd best remember it, or I'll duel you under the table and you'll be a laughing stock for being beaten by a _girl_."

"Why can't you just thank me like your parents did? I didn't _have_ to help you, you know."

"Thank you, Tom, for helping. Even though I didn't need it," she said sarcastically.

"You're welcome," he smirked.

She rolled her eyes, "You're insufferable."

"And yet I'm your only friend."

She sighed sadly, "You're the only one who actually takes me seriously aside from Dumbledore and Flitwick. Even though Slughorn tries, he still can't help but see some helpless girl who needs a man to take care of her. The rest of the students just think I'm odd."

"You _are _odd."

"Thanks," she scoffed.

"But," he added quietly, "you're the only one whose company I find I don't mind."

Hermione stared at him in shock, not blinking or breathing as she gaped at what seemed to be an obvious confession of – of _humanity_. Of _friendliness_! Tom Riddle thought of her as a _friend_! Harry had been _so sure_ that it would be impossible to save the likes of him. He'd told her that Voldemort had been cruel even as a child, and that he'd always been suspicious and had never had a friend. He'd never allowed himself to get close to anyone – and yet, here he was, telling her he didn't mind her company, odd as she was.

Tom gave her a small smile, just a tilt of his lips and a slight crinkling of the skin around his eyes, and then he gently tapped her chin to close her still gaping mouth. His small fingers were cold as they pressed against her skin, but they were gone before she could notice anything but the chill. Tom swept away from her and bade a polite goodnight to Slughorn before making his way out of the room. Hermione could do nothing but stare at the boy's back as he walked away. Before he was completely out of sight, however, he turned his head and met her eyes. His dark eyes were full of amusement as he cocked his eyebrow in a clear indication that she was making a fool of herself, but she couldn't help it. Tom Riddle, _Voldemort_, thought of her as – as a _friend_. How surreal.


	6. Dreaming of Change

**AN: **Sorry it's so late. I had a lot of trouble writing this. I'm losing my drive for this story, if you couldn't tell, so the updates will probably be a lot slower in coming - but I promise to finish this story eventually. It just might take a bit more time while class is in session. I'm seriously tired as I write this, and it's only five past seven. I feel like going to bed, honestly. But yes! So here's the new chapter, though it's probably not as good as the others because it's been so long since I had the inspiration to write (and even now I had to just force myself to do it). I DID warn you about possible updating issues, though! Anyway, here it is:

* * *

**Chapter Five: Dreaming of Change**

The following morning was full of rowdy students rushing to and from the Great Hall, gathering their trunks, remembering things they forgot to pack, rushing back to their dorms and back to the Entrance Hall with arms full of things they nearly left behind. Hermione was quite surprised to find a number of Ravenclaw and Slytherins joining in this along with the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. In her time, Ravenclaws and Slytherins had made a point to appear prepared, but here they were just like everybody else. Houses made a difference, yes, but the children were all fundamentally the same. It was refreshing and soothing – this was one thing she wouldn't have to try and change; she'd just have to try to keep it the same.

Unlike them, however, Hermione had been packed and ready for an entire week – she liked to do things in advance. So when she made it to the Great Hall for breakfast before setting off for the Thestral-drawn carriages, it was eight o'clock and she had half an hour to eat, none of which would be spent worrying. She ate slowly and hid an amused smile at her frantic, rushing peers as they ate quickly and disappeared and reappeared just as fast. When she was finished eating, she calmly walked out into the Entrance Hall, which was full of trunks, and she picked up her Feather Light Charmed trunk and headed outside the castle through the double doors. She got into a carriage with four fifth-year Hufflepuffs, greeting them kindly and making small talk, and the carriage pulled away from the school. The ride took no longer than ten minutes, closer to five probably, and when it was over she finally got out, picked up her trunk, and headed into the Hogwarts Express to find herself an empty compartment. When she was inside, she threw up a familiar set of Notice-Me-Not and Repellant Charms and then picked out a book from her collection. She settled in to spend the next six hours reading about the founding of the Ministry of Magic in 1700.

When her charms fell, she jumped in shock and stared in utmost confusion as a familiar boy pushed the door to her compartment open and then levitated his trunk up into the rack above their heads. "Tom?" she asked. "What're you doing here?"

"Entering this compartment, levitating my trunk, and I plan on sitting down and doing some reading. Would you mind putting those charms up again? I've practiced them myself, but you somehow combine yours better than I can."

She did so wordlessly and then sat back down to stare at him. She could tell that he was enjoying himself, creating such a mystery for her after he'd told her that he usually spent his Yule holiday at school. But now he was sitting in her compartment, looking smug at her confusion. "Well they haven't made any announcements about closing the school down for the holiday, so I suppose you must have been invited to stay with someone," she mused. "But who? I was under the impression that you didn't much talk to anyone if you could help it – except for me, of course, whom you enjoy _bothering_."

"You like my company – admit it."

"I suppose you aren't _too_ annoying," she said, before mischievously adding, "for a child."

"And you aren't too terribly stupid – for a _girl_."

Hermione harrumphed before going back to her wondering. "Well... I really can't see anyone in school other than myself asking you to spend Yule with them, and since I haven't asked you, that means someone _outside_ of Hogwarts did... and the only people outside of Hogwarts that you've made contact with are my parents," she concluded. "Which means you must be coming home with me."

"Hm," he sounded.

"Well?" she asked impatiently. "Are you coming to my house, or not?"

"I might be."

"So you are, then. What did my parents say about inviting you? Did they give any particular reason, outside of us being friends?"

"They might have," he said evasively.

"Dear, you can be such a nuisance sometimes."

"You've said so before," he smirked.

"And I'll say so again and again until you stop evading my questions. The only reason you haven't tried to change the subject is that you _know_ I'll catch on."

"Figured that out, did you?"

"Of course I did. I'm neither naive nor stupid."

"Some would say otherwise. Besides, aren't girls supposed to be innocent and dull? You should try to act in a manner befitting your sex."

"And _you_ should stop trying to aggravate me with your blatant sexism. I'll never be like that and you know it."

"I'm glad for it, too," he added. "How come you're so different, anyway? Your parents must have raised you differently for you to act so – so _masculine_."

She rolled her eyes, "My parents left me to my own devices mostly, and I spent the majority of my time reading fiction. I can't help it if I didn't get out enough to observe women acting so subservient to men. It's stupid, anyway. Obviously I'm smarter than any boy in my year, and my mother's smarter than many men her age; yet, because we're female, most men don't take us seriously and ignore anything that comes from us, genius or not. I'm actually quite thankful for Flitwick, Dumbledore, and Slughorn. Neither of them holds my sex against me."

"Slughorn doesn't seem to care so long as you'll benefit him in the end."

"True," Hermione said, "but that just means he thinks I'll be useful to him in the end, which is a compliment compared to what some of our other professors have to say about me."

Tom's eyes narrowed, "What have they said?"

"Oh, you know, the usual."

"Which is?" he asked tersely.

"That I shouldn't bother voicing my thoughts because no man will truly be impressed with me or desire me because of my outspokenness; I should try harder to find a husband than to waste my time on schooling, which will be useless to me anyway because I'm supposed to be a stay-at-home mother and wife without employment. The usual things sexist men say to women to get them to stop thinking for themselves."

Tom frowned and his face darkened, "They say that?"

"Worse, sometimes. Not so much the professors, because they'd probably get fired if they were _too_ harsh, but the students definitely feel that way. Even the Ravenclaws, who value intelligence. Which I find to be both amusing and hypocritical, what with our House being founded by a _woman_. Hah! Sometimes I wonder if they've forgotten that Hogwarts was founded by Helga and Rowena as well as Godric and Salazar. Obviously they mustn't think much on it."

"There are always exceptions to every rule," Tom told her quietly. "You and they are different than other females. The rest of them are simpering idiots who care more about their hair and future husbands than about learning."

"That's true," Hermione admitted, "but don't you see? That's how their parents and teachers have taught them to act! They tell them that their future livelihood relies on their finding a good match, and so they worry about that most of all! And since the only way to find a good match is to attract him, the most obvious thing to worry about is how desirable they appear – which means hair and make-up and dress are the most important things for living a good life."

"They're just stupid," Tom said. "Even if they stopped worrying about husbands and what-not, they'd still not be able to match you or our male classmates."

"Because that's how they were raised, because they've not _learned_ to think logically and rationally and to focus on their studies. If they'd been raised like I have, they would be more interested in learning. If they had a mother who worked for a living and _enjoyed it_, they'd be more apt to want the same. Nature only gives us the _potential_ to be something; _nurture_ that decides what we'll become. So no matter your circumstance, it will affect you. And the circumstance of our female classmates has nearly strangled their potential to the point where it can't be reached without strenuous effort."

"What about orphans, then? They're raised just as badly as girls are, if what you've spoken about their potential is true. How could I possibly be as good at everything as I am when my _circumstances_ would tell you otherwise?"

Hermione smiled a wry smile and answered: "There are exceptions to every rule, Tom."

Tom's eyes widened minutely as he recognized the words he had spoken earlier in regards to her and the two female founders of Hogwarts.

"You, somehow and despite your childhood circumstances, maintained your intelligence and thirst for learning. Honestly, I think that this says a lot about your potential and your character. You`re strong to be able to surmount the life you`ve lived before – and though you refuse to tell me much about it, I suspect that it`s not as acceptable as you`ve told me. Tom," she said seriously and quietly, "I think you've got the potential to do just about anything you want."

"How could I?" he sneered bitterly, "I'm nothing but a Mudblood."

"And you were nothing but an orphan before Hogwarts, and yet you still remained intelligent. It'll probably take you a bit longer to gain the necessary connections, but you'll get wherever you want... and you'll be great, no matter what you decide to do."

"Ollivander said the same thing," Tom muttered.

Hermione smiled, "And all our professors say it, too. Orphan or not, people will fight to get you to work for them when you graduate. It'll take more work for me to find something than for you."

"And what do you want to do?" he wondered.

Hermione paused, wondering if she ought to tell him. She had plans to change the wizarding world for the better, but if she told Tom... if she told him, then she'd be inviting him to join her. She'd be admitting that he could do good as well, that she would accept his help and trusted him not to make her path harder to walk. She might even influence the direction he would take in life.

"Well?" he demanded. "Don't tell me you just want to marry and have children."

She snorted and shook her head, "No, definitely not. I was actually wondering if I should tell you my plans... but I know you can make a difference, and I... I trust you."

Here, Tom looked pleased and let a victorious smirk cross his face.

"I plan on going into the Ministry," she said, "however I can manage to do that as a woman, and once there... once there, I'm going to change as many discriminatory laws as I can so that no one, no matter their sex or their species, will be forced to live a second-rate life."

Silence descended upon their compartment while Tom just stared at her in quiet disbelief. He blinked a few times, managed to open his mouth, but no sound came out and so he closed it again and went back to just staring at her. His brow furrowed, frown lines marring his smooth forehead, and he pursed his lips as he obviously began to think deeply.

"I think it would be a good idea, too," she continued, "if I could manage to create laws protecting magical orphans. Maybe I could open an orphanage, and set up a functioning adoption system. And Muggleborns would be informed about magic sooner than the arrival of their Hogwarts letter. There could maybe be some kind of primary school where we could teach them our customs and traditions and acclimatize them to the magical world. Who knows, wizarding children might even attend them and then they wouldn't grow up as secluded as they are now."

"That's rather... ambitious," Tom finally spoke.

"Yes, well, there's a lot that needs to be improved in our world. We've been fighting change too much."

"Then you agree with Dumbledore?"

She frowned and stated firmly, "No, actually. He wants to make us... well, like Muggles I suppose. He's trying to get rid of our holidays to replace them with something Muggle-friendly. But what he doesn't understand is that we _aren't_ Muggles. We celebrate these days for a reason, but he and others like him have forgotten that. The Hogwarts feast on Samhain is the only tradition left of that holiday. According to my research, most children went home to their families to celebrate the New Year and the beginning of winter, but now we're forced to stay at the school and can't perform any rituals or observances. My family doesn't even celebrate it properly because most rituals are illegal anymore. I didn't even know until I asked a fifth year prefect about it, and I've lived in the wizarding world my whole life!"

"The Old Ways," Tom recognized. "A lot of Slytherins hate Dumbledore for that. I didn't know what they meant, but if what you've said is true... then he's destroying our culture. I heard he's the one passing legislation in the Wizengamot."

"He is, he's the Chief Warlock, and he's drafting new laws left and right to get rid of our customs and traditions to turn us into Muggles who just so happen to use magic wands."

And it was true what she was telling Tom, horribly, horribly true. Hermione herself felt some resentment toward the man now, the man she used to look up to, who had appeared to her the paragon of truth and virtue. Now he was the symbol of the death and decay of a way of life. She really didn't know how to feel about it. She wanted to believe that he was still good and virtuous, but his blatant blindness in regards to his own world astounded Hermione. He might be a morally-upright man in terms of treating all peoples and creatures with kindness, respect, and consideration, but for some reason he left out of his regard the wizards and witches who practiced the dubbed "Old Ways". How could she reconcile the man who'd been her idol with this new man?

* * *

The train slowed as it neared London, and finally came to a stop as they reached Platform 9 ¾. Conversation had been stilted after Hermione's speech, Tom clearly being lost in thought, and so Hermione had taken out her homework and begun her holiday assignments. She only managed to finish two by the time they pulled into the station, but that was two less she would have to do at home. Not to mention how mind-numbingly boring first year essays were.

She and Tom lugged their trunks out of the train along with a flood of other students and began looking around for her parents, squinting through the steam and hoards of people. When Hermione finally spotted her parents and pointed them out to Tom, she noticed that Tom had frozen in place. His lips were white from being pressed together and the skin around his eyes was tight. She couldn't see his hands beneath his robes, but she'd bet anything that his knuckles were white as he clenched his fists. Unable to help herself, Hermione smiled gently at the nervous boy. He was so obviously trying to appear confident and strong and proper, but his nerves made his posture stiff and his expression unpleasant.

"Come on, dear, no need to be nervous," she teased him gently, taking his free hand and pulling him towards her parents.

"I'm not nervous," he snapped.

"Of course you aren't," she patronized.

They reached her parents after a short walk and she yanked him forward to stand beside her and in front of her parents. "Mum, dad, you remember Tom. Tom, these are my parents, Junia and Phaedrus Chase."

"It's nice to meet you properly," Tom greeted formally, holding his hand out to Hermione's father and shaking it stiffly.

Phaedrus soberly shook the boy's hand, but Hermione could tell that he was amused. Probably he could see (and feel) how tense Tom was and thought it silly. "Good to see you again, Tom," he said. "Been keeping my daughter safe, have you?"

"Of course, sir."

Hermione huffed and crossed her arms. The corner of Tom's mouth quirked up in the ghost of a smirk and she narrowed her eyes. Of course the kid would find her situation amusing! She'd show him some day – she's save _his _life, and then he'd _have_ to admit that women were just as good as men at _everything_!

When Tom tried to shake her mum's hand, Hermione finally got her revenge as the boy was pulled into a tight hug by her mother. The look on his face was priceless! His eyes flew open widely and his mouth gaped stupidly as his arms hung uselessly at his sides. She was just about to laugh when she caught the look in his eyes. They were wide with surprise and befuddlement, yes, but they were also... sad, or perhaps wistful was the right word. She'd forgotten that the boy wouldn't have had many, if any, hugs before in his life. He was so starved for affection – so like _Harry_ – that it made her heart ache keenly in her chest. She'd have to find a way to get him used to physical affection. No child should go through life not knowing the gentle touch of a parent, or of anyone at all.

"Are you both ready?" her mum asked.

She and Tom nodded and so her parents brought them towards the public floos. Her dad quickly and efficiently explained to Tom how the Floo Network worked and the four of them flooed to Chase's Abode. Hermione walked through the floo and watched as Tom came stumbling through, coughing out ash and trying to straighten his hair and soot-covered clothes. She laughed, unable to help herself. Tom was just so proper and _clean_. Seeing him fumbling about made him more human, more childish.

"Oh dear," her mother said before brandishing her wand and waving away the soot with a silent spell. "Now, let's get you unpacked and freshened up, then we'll have lunch."

They went up the stairs, Tom subtly trying to take in all the details without turning his head about too much, and stopped in front of one of the guest rooms. "This shall be your room, Tom," Junia told him, motioning him into the room. "The colours can easily be changed if you don't like them, so don't worry if you don't like warm colours. Tell me or Phaedrus what you'd prefer and we'll change it in a flick of the wrist. You are, of course, allowed to put your clothes away in the wardrobe and use the desk as you wish. Your personal lavatory is through that door," she motioned to the closed door diagonally across from the bed and next to the large wardrobe. "If you need anything – a glass of water, a snack – just call Fanny and she'll be happy to help."

Seeing the confusion on Tom's face, Hermione explained, "Fanny is our house elf. If you call her name intending for her to hear you and answer, she will. But don't abuse the privilege. I won't stand for her to be mistreated – not that I think you will, of course, but I feel I have to warn you just the same."

"Oh darling, I wish you would stop with that foolishness."

"Mistreatment of house elves is a serious problem. Uncle Janus treats his horribly – the man shouldn't be allowed to talk to them, let alone own them!"

"Be that as it may, you won't say a thing when he comes for supper."

"He's coming tonight?" Hermione nearly whined.

"Yes, and you'd do best to mind your manners. I know you haven't seen much of him, what with – well, before Hogwarts anyway, but I won't have you embarrassing your father and me by acting so un-lady-like. It was fine when you were a child, but now you've started school and your uncle won't have you talking back to him or lecturing him on the ethical treatment of house elves."

"I wish he weren't coming," Hermione muttered angrily, remembering how the man had shouted at his house elf for slightly burned cookies.

Her mum cupped her cheeks and smiled sweetly at her, "I know, darling, but it's just for tonight, and after Yule you won't have to see him again this holiday. I'll tell your father to make sure your uncle doesn't upset you, so long as you promise to mind your manners. I might even be able to send you and Tom off after dinner – but only if you behave."

"Fine," she promised.

Hermione hadn't seen much of her family since she was small, only seeing them on holidays and occasionally a birthday or two (they'd only come to her first, second, and third birthdays she now recalled). For a long time she'd wondered _why_. Why didn't her family come to visit her? When she'd been with the Grangers, they'd gone to visit family fairly often, and vice-versa, but with the Chases Hermione only rarely saw her extended family – and now she knew why. Her mother had laid it out rather obviously, though she clearly didn't wish to talk about it (or at least not in front of Tom): their family hadn't wanted anything to do with her because they'd thought her to be a squib. Before Hogwarts, her _parents_ had even believed her to be one. The only memories she had of her other family were formal and stiff. She could vaguely recall snapping at her uncle Janus before for having yelled at his house elf (probably why her mum was warning her to behave), but she hadn't had much interaction with the family otherwise. They'd simply avoided her. Her parents had gone visiting a few times, leaving her with Fanny, and that just further went to prove how awful the Chase family could be (aside from her parents, who'd loved her even when they'd thought her a squib). And now she'd have to see her uncle Janus, who would probably make some comment about thanking Merlin that she wasn't a squib, and Tom would find out about that whole mess. What would he think? Did it matter?

"You should be unpacking, darling, we'll have lunch in half an hour" her mother told her before leaving the two Hogwarts students alone.

"Your uncle Janus... he was your most recent family to graduate Hogwarts," Tom suddenly said as she'd begun to turn away.

"Yes," she blinked.

"Why don't you get along with him?"

"Well, I haven't much seen him. The last time I did, I snapped at him for yelling at his house elf, and he, of course, got all offended like I'd questioned his manliness or something stupid like that."

Tom's eyebrows rose high on his forehead, "His _manliness_? You have the oddest expressions sometimes."

"Oh, _you know_! It's like every time I do better than a boy in class – get the spell quicker, get a higher mark, answer a question correctly – they always act like I've offended their delicate sensibilities or something, as if my being able to do those things somehow makes them less masculine."

"You don't offend or threaten me," Tom said loftily.

Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes before saying half-jokingly, "That's because you're an arrogant sod."

Colour rose in his cheeks as he bit out, "I'm not arrogant!"

"You are. You're better than any student your age – aside from me, of course – and the teachers never fail to tell you so. I can't imagine you_ not _getting a bit full of yourself after all that. I won't even _start_ on how you talk about your classmates – specifically your female classmates."

"That's because they're stupid; we've already established this."

"No, they've been _trained_ to be stupid. There's a difference. You don't think my mum's stupid, do you?"

"Of course not!" he sputtered.

"Well, there you go. That makes four women who aren't stupid. I'd bet if you looked a bit closer, you'd see that your female peers are clever in their own way. They just haven't learned to apply that cleverness to academia is all."

"I'm not arguing about this with you again," Tom said in lieu of a rebuttal. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get unpacked _before_ lunch."

Hermione rolled her eyes and replied, "Yes, dear," before leaving the guest room and heading into her own. She swiftly unpacked, using the repetitive and thoughtless action to soothe her worried thoughts about her uncle's impending visit. Everything would be fine. And even if Tom found out that her family had thought her to be a squib – that she _hadn't actually_ gotten a Hogwarts letter before Dumbledore's visit – it would be fine. He knew her; he knew how talented she was, how quickly and easily she performed magic (he'd caught her casting silently on the day they met, for heaven's sake). He wouldn't judge her as inadequate or question her deserving to attend their school. Even if she was a girl.

* * *

**Footnote: **Before you get too upset about Hermione constantly dithering on about women's rights, feminist issues, I'd like you to remember that she's now living in the forties. Women were treated insanely different back then, and to go from being treated with as much respect as men to being treated practically like an invalid would seriously piss anyone off.

This is an issue she'll keep coming back to because it's something she wants to change and knows _will_ change. She just want to help it along, quicken the pace to equality between the sexes (something we in the real world haven't yet fully reached). So take a breather and put yourself in her shoes - and those are some damn scary shoes, I must say. I'd go nuts if someone told me to get out of uni, stop learning, and go have babies and make house or something. There would be murder and mayhem (okay, not murder, but definitely mayhem).


End file.
